Survivals
by Shadowy Star
Summary: Sometimes, survival just isn't enough. DxG
1. Part One: Remembrance

**Survivals**

by Shadowy Star

January 2006

Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Characters not appearing or being mentioned in the original trilogy are likewise mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use the story without permission.

**A/N:** Sometimes, survival just isn't enough.

Set about twenty years after the end of the series. And oh yes, they _do_ deserve _this_.

There's a prequel to this, entitled 'Naming Children'. I highly recommend reading that one first before reading this fic.

* * *

**Part 1 **

**Remembrance**

"You've been WHERE?" Damien demanded, sounding completely shocked.

"In the Forest," Geraldine Vryce repeated serenely. "Or at least where the Forest once has been." She turned around to face her father and grinned broadly at his expression. "Don't be angry at me," she said, removing the large sun hat she used to wear for working outside, and placed her bag onto the large table to her right. Maps were spread all over it, with old books or –much older– artifacts pinning down the edges to hold them in place. Her desk to her left was covered with piled books instead, some of the piles towering quite high and looking dangerously instable. Loose sheets overly covered with notes lay on top of a pile, held by something that looked like a transparent glass cube with a silvery disk within only it was much heavier than any glass and unbreakable – an artifact from the Landing. She assumed there had to be a way to get the disk out of the cube since a thin line on the down side of it indicated at an opening but she never figured out.

She shook out her reddish-brown, nearly waist-long locks before taking a look at her father again just to check on the effect her words had caused.

Damien was looking at his daughter, speechless for a few seconds. Which happened more frequently those days, he had to admit. She was really too smart for her own good. And her choice of research project clearly proved that!

"Relax, Dad," she said. "I'm allowed to do research there."

"That doesn't matter! Have you forgotten what the Forest was?"

"Dad!" she said impatiently. "I'm an archaeologist and a loremaster. I do never forget things."

It was a warm, close to be called 'hot', sunny day in June, with skies that blue and deep one could lose oneself in them and the golden veil of the Core's stars sparkling brightly enough to rival the white sunlight. Behind the windows of their house, well cared-for gardens extended to the shoreline of a small side-river of the Lethe. With the Forest burned and his dark influence gone, Sheva had grown into a respectable town over the last twenty years.

"How the Hell did you manage to talk them into _that_ idea?" Damien asked finally.

"Oh, that haven't been difficult at all," she shrugged it off nonchalantly. "Since I'm back from the West they do almost everything I ask for. As they damn well should. I brought them artifacts from the Landing at last."

"Yeah, and this is a great of a work but it doesn't explain…"

"It does. God of Earth and Erna! Those artifacts will speed the development of Erna's technology immensely. Remember the disks I've found on the Eastern continent last year? Since we've decoded them we have a key to a knowledge that has been unavailable to us for more than thousand years. That means improvement in almost any branch of technology, medical equipment being the first!"

"And the University of Jaggonath is that thankful to permit you to research the _Forest_?"

"Well, 'thankful' is a bit underestimated. But they are not stupid as well. There are only few scientists willing to do –and able of– a research like this. Speaking of stupid, I still think to blow up the Hunter's keep was the most foolish thing to do. Oh yes, I know," she advanced as she saw her father intending to interject, "it's been necessary for the Church and the faith of the humankind and so on and I understand it –I really do– but Dad, from a scientist's point of view…" She sighed. "Think about all the possibilities we've lost. Think of all the knowledge."

Slowly, Damien shook his head. They had discussed that specific topic for more times he could remember. How much like her namesake his daughter had become, he thought. Not in appearance, of course, but in her way of thinking. Not that he bothered, not at all. Giving his daughter his friend's name, he'd intended this, had dreamed her children or her children's children would have the stars. He'd raised her to be curious, tolerant, and open-minded, to question everything. And she didn't disappoint him. Though he would have been more than happy if she'd chosen to become a physician like himself, he'd done nothing to stop her from studying archaeology. Or becoming a loremaster, for that matter.

"You told them that," he said.

"Yes," she stated, a certain stubbornness in her hazel brown eyes – eyes and stubbornness both so much like his own, he had to admit.

"Have you any idea how vulking dangerous that place is?"

"It isn't anymore. I've got Sight, remember? And I'm telling you there's nothing left of dark fae in there. I told them that, too."

Damien shrugged. _That_ was a fact he couldn't defy. His daughter was born with Vision like a lot of children of her generation. _Before the Change she might have become an Adept,_ he thought. _No,_ he corrected himself. _She _would_ have become an Adept_. He adored his daughter. She was brilliant and warmhearted, just like her mother had been.

Briefly, a thought of Mireille crossed his mind. He had loved her, too, as far as he'd been able to. She had been a sorceress before the Change, a Healer like himself though not a priestess of the One God. They both had worked as physicians with the abilities left to them in the 'Memorial Hospital' he'd founded in Sheva with the Church's money back then and later on, had turned it into the only cardiologic center in the East. They had been desperately trying to find a place to live in this brave new world where the fae was no more reachable. The loss of their faeborn abilities had connected them somehow, and the kind of comfort born of that understanding had been enough to get married and have a child together. He'd tried his best to give her all comfort she needed. And if there were a part of him that was closed to her she hadn't seemed to mind. Mireille had died five years after Geraldine was born. And it was proof of his lacking ability to feel anything that he didn't mourn her death like he should have had. Like he'd mourned someone else's death.

"Which makes research a lot easier," Geraldine added, cutting off his train of thoughts.

"You use the Vision?" he asked.

"Of course I do. Do you think I were as half as successful in my job as I am if I didn't? You might like it or not but the fae _is_ one of Erna's natural forces. It alters humanity –it still does, you know– to adapt us, to integrate us into this planet's pattern. In fact, with every generation passed there are more of us. I do believe that one day every human being born on Erna will be able to see the fae."

"I hope you're wrong!"

"Why? Do you think we would be less human? Don't be ridiculous. That's what we usually call evolution."

He smiled. The day was clearly too hot to argue. Besides, his daughter usually had a point.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have given up working," he said instead, changing the subject. "I think I needed it. Now I'm feeling old."

"Don't be absurd, Dad," she said finally, after taking a closer look at him. "You're not old, you're _bored_." She smiled that infuriatingly bright smile which told him she was up to something. "Just tell me, Dad, what would you do if you could start again?"

"Don't know," he shrugged. "Maybe get settled somewhere in a quiet little place and start breeding horses."

"In that case," she said, grinning broadly again, "I do have great news for you."

"Why is it that I get vulking nervous each time you say you have great news?" he asked suspiciously.

She laughed heartily. "Because I'm my father's daughter, maybe?"

He broke into laughter, too. "You might have a point."

"Want to hear them anyway?" she asked.

"For some reason I doubt I could stop you."

"Well, remember the unhorses of the Forest? For all it seems some of them escaped before the Forest had been set on fire. They survived and bred, so there're at least one herd of wild unhorses out there on the plains of Jahanna by now. Do you think it's enough for a start?"

Completely speechless again, he couldn't help but stare at his daughter in stunned silence. "Umm, yes… Yes – wait – What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing," she answered, casting a far too innocent glance at him. "I just thought… The hospital almost runs itself…"

He looked at her, _very_ suspicious by now.

"I would appreciate to know you doing something useful for a change instead of getting yourself bored to death," she said by way of explanation. _Or depressed to quite the same point_, but she didn't mention _that_.

"Instead of getting on your nerves, you mean," he said, grinning somewhat mockingly.

"Well, that too, but I'm far too well-mannered to ever say so out loud," she declared, giving him an equally mischievous grin. "Thanks to you."

"Well, I'll consider this," he said, searching again for a subject to change to. That was the problem with children when they were growing up. No respect at all. "What did you find this time?"

"Maybe the Hunter's skull," she grinned brightly, picking up a fine brush. Too occupied with her preparations, she failed to notice her father's face going almost deadly pale.

"And what are you going to do with it?" he finally managed, holding his voice as even as possible. _So much for your choice of subjects for conversation,_ a small part of his brain piped up. _Great idea, Damien_.

Geraldine frowned slightly. "What I do with every skull found. Face reconstruction."

"Why? We do know vulking bloody well what it looked like."

"There is a difference between knowing something in abstract and seeing it with one's own eyes," she said by way of explanation.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Damien Vryce said. _That_ was clearly the understatement of the century. "Don't do this, Geraldine."

"Why not?" Geraldine asked, finally sensing something wrong. She looked up then, quickly enough to meet her father's eyes for a split second before he turned his gaze away.

"Because it would do no good if you did."

The fleeting expression in her father's eyes vanished almost too quickly to be identified. But only almost. Geraldine was a loremaster and loremasters were to rely on their social skill these days to collect knowledge with the fae unWorkable forever. Sometimes an expression or a gaze gave away more information than a hundred pages. And so _of course_ she was trained well in reading those minute signals that spoke to her in their own language. She was surprised to recognize the look in her father's eyes as one of pain.

He turned away.

"Don't do this," he tried again, not looking at her, though he knew already there was no way he could stop her. Unless he decided to reveal some of his past. He'd thought of it a lot of times before, to tell her at least a censored version thereof. But how do you tell your daughter you didn't love her mother? Where _ever_ do you start?

He turned and left.

Working with devotion to what she was doing, Geraldine allowed her thoughts to drift to what she knew about the Tarrants. She remembered a conversation she'd eavesdropped when she was 13.

…There had been a desperate knocking on the entrance door that cold autumn evening. Geraldine was sitting in her favorite hiding place under the stairs that led to the upper floors of their house, trying not to make a sound because then Alyssa, her older cousin who was visiting them with her family, would surely find her and again try to teach her how to cook. The 15-years-old girl didn't seem to understand that Geraldine wasn't at all into cooking. She was far more interested in all those things –big and little– that were there to_ know_. And here right before her eyes … uhmm, well, ears… was another. She drew back, melting even more into the shadows and silently praying to the One God her stupid cousin would go searching elsewhere.

Geraldine heard the sound of her father's steps down the stairs and then of a lock undone and of a door opened.

"Good evening," her father's deep voice greeted whoever was at the door warmly.

"Doctor Vryce!" a female voice said, thickly overlaid with tears and worry. "Please, you're the only one who can help me… Please… I'm Narilka Tarrant."

"I know who you are, Neocountess," her father said. "What can I do for you?"

Geraldine couldn't see anything but the tones and timbres of the voices spoke their own language. The woman's distress was audible clearly – as was Geraldine's father's … indifference?

"It's about my husband, Andrys." The woman –the Neocountess– was obviously too lost in her worries to realize the change in the healer's voice.

"I know who he is, too." Now here was something more than indifference, something almost like lack of interest, distantly tinged with pity.

"He had a heart attack two weeks ago. Now I'm here to ask an expert's advice. Can you help him?" Hope in the Neocountess' voice, almost tangible…

"The answer is no." Her father's voice was strangely calm, lacking compassion usually so typical for him.

"But you didn't even listen–"

"No need to," Damien Vryce declared calmly. "Did you honestly believe he could have fooled the Forest pretending to be the Hunter with it all only rooted in a simple external resemblance? Think. He's as much a genetic copy of the Hunter as in natural ways possible. So that's genetics that's killing him. He has a hereditary heart anomaly – exactly like the Prophet has had. And like the Prophet he'll die of it. I'm sorry. Nothing can be done for him in this new world. Before the Change I would have been able to Heal him. Now it's impossible. I regret that."

"How long does he have?"

"If he's careful – three longmonths, at maximum."

"So he won't see his second child being born." Narilka wept silently.

"I'm sorry," Geraldine's father said but there was no apologizing in his voice. Nor regret.

And after the Neocountess had left, Geraldine remembered words, spoken into the silence of the room with sadness and something that could have been even understanding if not voiced that distantly. "Poetic justice, Andrys."…

She'd never forgotten that, filing the fact along with all the others about her father she didn't understand – yet. With that inborn instinct of a loremaster she felt that somewhere in it there had to be a key to it, to understand, to put all the fragments to a picture. But no matter how much she'd tried, she'd never succeeded. Some essential part was still missing.

Much later she looked at the face her hands had created.

It was definitely not that of the Hunter.

Which was impossible. Which _should_ have been impossible. There were certain rules face reconstruction had to follow, like underlying bone structure, layers of musculature, subcutaneous tissue. All of that formed a face and she was pretty sure she'd done correctly.

Was it possible that she'd made a mistake?

Hastily, she recalled the seven main steps of an archaeological excavation. First, perform an initial survey in which the goal is to identify if any archaeological sites are in the area. Well, there had never been even the slightest shadow of doubt about one of _those_. Second, once a site has been identified, then a site form must be filled out. Such a form, if complete, had to contain a map showing the location of the area, the exact geographical location of the site, the recovered artifacts, the possible historic period, and if the site was worth preserving. There never had been doubts about one of that, either. Using maps of Merentha castle which the Hunter's fortress had been an exact copy of, she'd easily located the place where they'd burned the Hunter's head. Skipping the steps three to seven (which included placing excavation units, correct preparations for and methods of the digging itself, labeling of artifacts and features found, to methods of categorizing and preserving the recovered artifacts), she focused on step two as the one where she could have made a mistake. But the maps were done accurately –she'd double- and trice-checked all of them–, and there had been ash and residues of wood in that layer, too. All the layers deeper down shoved no sign of fire usage at all – impossible elsewhere on Erna. Besides, it was the only skull found without a corresponding skeleton. She was quite sure this was the head burned by Andrys Tarrant. Only that it was not that of the Hunter. Conclusions formed themselves with increasing speed, completing the chain of deduction. That could only mean the Hunter hadn't died that day. Which, in turn, meant that everything she believed, everything her faith was build on, had been a lie.

She realized someone was knocking on her workroom's door. From the insistence of the sound she could tell he was doing that for a while.

She walked to the door with a frown upon her face, still battling with the consequences of her revelation – now how the bloody Hell was she supposed to make sense of that mess when her father stubbornly refused to utter a single word about the probably most important event in Erna's history since the damn Landing itself? Not that she hadn't tried.

She opened the door and stepped back to let said stubborn father in. _Oh, girl,_ she thought for the look upon his face certainly didn't bode well, _you're in trouble, you know that, right?_ At that point, her own anger flared. _But you're as well, Dad._

Her father entered and walked slowly –_Almost hesitatingly,_ she thought, _as if he were afraid_– around her work bench to take a closer look. _Is he really holding his breath?_ she wondered.

"How does your work proceed?" Damien asked as evenly as he could manage.

"I've finished that," she said, forcing herself to calmness. "The skull is not that of the Hunter".

"How do you know?" he said but there was no curiosity in his voice where there should be one.

"I know because the corpses of all fallen church soldiers were buried according to the old church tradition. Buried, not burned. Buried outside the evil Forest. Oh, there might be skeletons under the remnants of the citadel itself but even they wouldn't show any signs of fire influence since the fortress collapsed _before_ the Forest had been set on fire. Don't you understand what that means?" she asked with fury in her voice when no reply came. "Don't you understand?! They lied!"

"I know," Damien Vryce said quietly, finally –perhaps too late– making a decision.

"They…! – wait. What?"

"I know," he repeated.

"You've _known_ that? Dad!" The look of disappointment and utter confusion in her eyes pierced his heart more efficiently than any steel blade could. "You're one of the most honest people I've ever known. How could you have played along with that? I can't believe it!"

"I had my reasons. I still have. Please, calm down. I think we need to talk."

She didn't seem to have heard him at all. "You _lied_ to me. You promised not to but you did. I know there are things in your past you don't want to talk about and I've accepted it because you're my father and I love you but... But I didn't think…" she turned to leave.

"Wait. Listen–"

She turned to him, obviously trying to fight down her fury. At moments like this he wished she hadn't inherited his own explosive temper.

"Why? I simply don't understand why have you done this?"

"Geraldine," he said. Said it quietly, very quietly. "Please believe me when I say that I never lied to you except in that one special case. And if you would give me a chance to explain I'm sure you _would _understand."

Long seconds went in silence before she finally, wordlessly, nodded. In her eyes he could see the desperate wish to believe him fighting against the pain of being betrayed. Tears were in those hazel brown eyes so much like his own as she finally spoke, and her voice was trembling. "Well, there's a hell of a lot of things you have to explain. But I'm warning you. I _do_ have questions. Lots of. And this time I want answers."

"And you shall get them, I promise. But first I want your word that you'll never, ever share this knowledge with anyone. No one, you understand?"

"Dad," she said, astonished beyond words. What piece of knowledge he was to share with her it had to be something important or he wouldn't ask _that_ of her… If there was something that could have made the importance of the matter more clear she wasn't aware of it just now. _Well, it damn better be,_ she thought. She took a deep breath. "I'm a loremaster. My vows bind me to neutrality," she began, escaping for a couple of moments into lecturing –completely unnecessary for he pretty well knew everything about loremasters and their vows–, gathering her courage. Taking another deep breath, the whole meaning of what she was about to say as heavy as lead on her shoulders, she continued. "By these vows I swear not to share the knowledge you entrust to me with anyone. Except of my family if I so choose."

"What does that mean? I'm your only family."

"At the moment, yes. But I'll have children someday or at least I intend to. Dad, please, understand. I've become a loremaster because I do believe storing knowledge to be the most important job on Erna. _You_ taught me that. _You_ were the one who said that every piece of data, every bit of information might turn out useful some day."

At that, Damien frowned. "I was quoting from the Prophet. Damn him for that."

"Whatever kind of knowledge it may be, I can't allow it to die with me. It goes against all my instincts."

Damien nodded. He _did_ understand. Too much like her namesake… "Sit down, please. This will take time…"

And he told her. Everything. Sometimes he would stop briefly at things like brutality of battles or cruelty of the rakh and of the Master of Lema or Hell, altogether things he thought a father shouldn't tell his daughter but it would earn him only raised eyebrows or snorts.

"I'm a physician's daughter," she said once on such an occasion. "There's hardly something that could shock me."

And then there were other things, things he purposely tried to hide – like emotions and feelings. But he'd forgotten she was a loremaster, skilled in reading expressions. She'd made only a go-on gesture, her eyes keeping examining his face.

"No more lies, Dad," she whispered.

As he was finished –hours later– she looked at him. At some point during his tale anger had vanished from her eyes leaving only understanding behind. She didn't look embarrassed or angry.

Her voice was soft as she finally spoke. "Now everything makes sense…" –_my constantly failing attempts to set you up with various women included,_ but she didn't say_ that_– "I always wondered who it was you named me after," she continued instead. "And you never saw him again?"

He shook his head. "No. What for?"

"Mmh…" she made thoughtfully. She had a pretty good idea of 'what for' but she valued her own skin too much to mention it right now. "Did you try to find him?"

"I did. Unsuccessfully. You can't find someone who doesn't want to be found."

"You're right," she said. "_I_ can't and neither can _you_." Then, an idea lightening her face with something too close to good-humored mischievousness to his liking, she added. "Fortunately, I know exactly whom to ask." With that she whirled around and headed for the door.

"Geraldine!" he said exasperatedly. "What are you going to do?"

"Research."

"That's a very bad idea!" he called to an already empty room.

"We can discuss that later!" she answered from somewhere upstairs.

Damien Vryce stood somewhat perplexed for a moment, then rolled his eyes, said,

"_Children,_"

and went to saddle a horse for his wonderful, brilliant, stubborn daughter, a broad grin upon his face.

TBC…


	2. Part Two: Resemblance

**Survivals**

by Shadowy Star

**Part 2**

**Resemblance**

"Do you really think he'll find him?" Damien Vryce asked, hope and doubt to equal parts in his voice.

That didn't escape his daughter's attention and therefore she resisted the urge to roll her eyes _again_. They had discussed this over more times she was willing to count.

"Riven Forrest is the personification of the hunt itself if I got the process of his creation right," Geraldine replied thus, cautiously sipping her tee. "If anyone can hunt down the Hunter, it's him." _We've traveled to Jaggonath for this sole purpose after all,_ she thought. It had taken a few discussions –and all of her patience– before her father had finally agreed to come to this place. Now, knowing his history, Geraldine came to understand her father's reluctance when it came to travels to the East's capital. She doubted he had been here more than two or three times since the Change. Not that she herself had visited the city even just as often. Her father had insisted for her to attend the University of Ganji-on-the-Cliffs back then. Only now she began to understood why.

"Except that we're not looking for the Hunter," he said, and Geraldine's attention snapped back to their conversation.

"Exactly."

"But where's the point in this?"

Geraldine resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.

"Dad, think. Mer Forrest will check all the places the Hunter perhaps would have gone to so there'll be no need for _me_ to do it myself. Instead, I can start checking all the _other_ possibilities. You understand? We don't have to ask ourselves what the Hunter might have done. The question is what the man who _had been_ the Hunter might have done."

"Still, I don't think it's safe…"

"Of course it's safe or I wouldn't be suggesting it! Those dangerous journeys of yours must have seriously addled your brain! If not for me you wouldn't have it all figured out in ages!" she spoke and then froze. And then made a double take. No, scratch that, a whole series of double takes.

Setting the tee cup aside, she raised her head and took a long, intent, intensive look at her father. What she saw, made her frown with irritation. He still looked impressive, with his broad shoulders and his hair only slightly woven with silver. Turning her attention to that fact for the first time in her life, she wondered how it could be. He looked younger than he should, she thought. _Much_ younger. She would have judged him to be thirty-seven, at maximum, if she didn't know better. She knew, back then before the Change, it'd been possible to lengthen one's life by using the fae. Lady Ciani of Faraday, the famous expert on the rakh, had done so. As far as Geraldine knew, that woman had to be – what? nearly ninety by now? And looked not quite forty. Geraldine frowned again. Knowing her father's faith she highly doubted he would have done something similar even if he'd been still able to. Which remained lots of questions all of them could be reduced to a single one. If her father didn't then who did? And by using which forces?

"Dad," she said, still frowning but already picking up one of the numerous pencils strewn all over the table. "I need medical consultation."

"What's wrong? Are you ill?" he said, instantly worried and quite confused by the sudden change of topic.

"No. I need your advice about aging processes in human body. Especially how they could have been altered by the fae, back before the Change. Especially what kind of Working was required for. Especially if and in which ways such a change can still be detected."

"What are you intending?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

"Nothing. I'm just thinking…"

"And about what?"

"Gifts," Geraldine answered, thoughtfully chewing at the tip of her pencil.

"I don't understand," he said, his worries doing quite the opposite to diminishing.

"Nor do I," she admitted though referring to another matter, disappointment ringing clearly in her voice. "Well, will you tell me what I need to know or do I have to consult other ex-Healers?"

"Alright, alright. What's all about?" Damien asked.

"Research," Geraldine answered, her eyes twinkling brightly. "I've started a new project."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Dad!" she said exasperatedly. And broke into laughter at his expression.

The next two hours she spent learning about tissue regeneration, growing and dying of cells, nuclei and chromosomes, biochemical pathways and genetics.

* * *

The city center of Jaggonath was as usual crowded with people. She made her way from an antiquarian book shop where she'd bought a copy of 'Late Terran Languages: An Overview'. She truly _had_ intended to go to that 'Hunt Shoppe' but got distracted by the copious amount of books the antiquarian had. Damn it all to the vulking damn Hell, she thought, books were and always would be her great weakness. Especially when it was as rare an exemplar as this. She opened the copy and started to turn the ancient pages carefully, completely lost to the surroundings.

She felt something warm and solid slamming against her and raised her head, suddenly realizing she'd run straight into someone else. Surprised, she dropped her book. Unfortunately, it fell directly onto her opponent's head for he was already bending down to pick up his own belongings that had also fallen to the ground.

"Ouch," he said, straightening himself, and raised his hand to rub his head.

"My apologies," she said but couldn't help smiling.

The man was young, of her age maybe, or one or two years older. His short-cut hair was dark brown, his features fine. Eyes, clear green as emerald, met her gaze. Looking in those eyes, she immediately sorted the man into the dangerous category. Well, dangerous to her peace of heart. The look in his eyes was … irritating. Kind and warm and with a hint of seductiveness at the same time. She couldn't put a finger on it but somehow that young man seemed familiar to her. Where again had she seen that face?

"Accepted," he said, and Geraldine was that occupied with her thoughts she had to ask herself what it was he'd accepted before it hit her.

"I'm Geraldine of Sheva," she introduced herself.

"The archaeologist?" the stranger asked. "My… my pleasure, Lady Geraldine," he said hastily, as if just in time remembering the correct title of a female loremaster. "I've read your essay about artifacts after the Landing. It's brilliant!"

"Thank you very much," she said, trying to keep a smile of delight from her lips. "Which part exactly did you find brilliant?"

"Um… All of it." And the somewhat sheepish look in his eyes told her all she wanted to know.

"Indeed?" she asked, smiling and then rising of her brows to hint she didn't believe a word.

At that he broke into heartily laughter. "All right. I should have known better. My father says it's brilliant. As a seismologist I don't know that much about the matter to judge your work properly."

She looked at the book lying on the ground. 'Seismic Patterns of the Western Continent, Part Three: Fae Influence'.

"And your father does?" she asked, curiosity rising it's head and trying to tell her this was somehow important.

"Yeah. But where's my manner?" the young man said, his warm voice cutting off the train of her thoughts. "Please allow me to introduce myself, if somewhat belated. My name's Damien da Silva."

"Nice to meet you, Mer da Silva," she said. Da Silva was a very old name in one of the ancient Terran languages, meaning … what? And speaking of names… _How odd,_ she thought, _he has Dad's given name…_

She would have given that fact much more attention if she hadn't gotten so distracted by the man's good looks and kind green eyes. God, but was he handsome! Though quite contrarily to what was her usual expectation on male beauty, he simply took her breath away.

_Concentrate, Geraldine!_ she kicked herself mentally.

She realized they had been exchanging meaningless pleasantries for a couple of minutes now.

By the look Damien, ahm… Mer da Silva, was giving her, she herself must have made quite an impression.

_Time to turn tables,_ she thought wickedly and gave him one of her famous bright smiles she used to break upon unsuspecting victims of her charm.

His eyes widened and he offered an almost shy smile of his own which was so sweet it instantly melted Geraldine's heart. Her soon-to-be lover, she decided quickly because there was no way in all eternity she could let go something that good, looked at her as if there was nothing else to look at, and she smiled again. _Soon,_ she thought.

They decided to have a coffee to go and ended up in a small café sitting at a table and drinking their coffees there which was followed by discussing nearly every topic possible and eating two slices of caramel cake each which, again, was followed by more coffee and more discussion until they finally realized neither of them wanted the other to leave. They talked and talked and discovered even more things they had in common. Of course then, they had to disagree on the matter whether or not the Church should be the only institution of government on Erna as it was now. Damien happily proclaimed the pros when Geraldine just as vehemently discussed the cons. Neither succeeded to convince the other but they found they could live with that. From there to religion it was just a tiny step. They both didn't give a damn about religion despite their fathers' best efforts to have it otherwise. Of course, from there to family the step was even tinier and again they discovered one more thing they had in common. Both were raised mostly by a father, with their mothers having died long ago.

The more they talked the more something grew between them and so when they finally stood to leave the small café their bodies 'accidentally' touched. Quite pleased with that, they looked at each other. Of course then, that could lead to the only possible conclusion and when their lips met they were lost to the world.

"You know I'm a loremaster," Geraldine whispered. "Do you want to know what's my specialty?"

"What?" he breathed against her lips.

"Old languages and communication," she answered mischievously. "Would you let me teach you?"

"I'm a quick learner," he smirked. "Want to know what's mine?"

"Yes," she smiled against his mouth and kissed him again.

"Volcanoes," he said after he was able to breathe again.

_Ohh,_ she thought, _if that isn't an explosive mix_…

So the next only possible conclusion led them to a nearby hotel and to hours of pleasant activities.

After that, when they lay as close to each other as possible, with their limbs entangled and their breaths still ragged, neither was eager to end that perfect moment. When reality entered the scene again, demanding them to be where they had been supposed to be this morning –which had progressed into late afternoon without them noticing–, Geraldine had a feeling to wake from a dream. A dream she didn't plan to let go again.

Thus, reality had little chance and Geraldine's suggestion to visit the 'Museum of Archeology' was met by Damien's complete and utter enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, Nature seemed not to approve of their plans because they were half the way to the museum when Geraldine registered a sudden change in the smoothly flowing currents of earth-fae.

"Stop!" she ordered.

"What?" her lover asked.

"A quake," she explained. "Where's the Cathedral?"

"You have Sight?" he sounded perplexed.

"Where?" she urged, cutting off whatever he'd intended to say.

"That way," he pointed to the right.

Geraldine took his hand and run.

They felt the first light trembling under their feet when they reached the Cathedral. Fortunately, it hadn't been that far. They entered and stood there in the atrium, gasping for breath.

"You have Sight?" Damien repeated when he finally was able to speak.

"Yes," Geraldine's breath was still more gasps than regular. _Dammit,_ she thought_. I'm a scientist, not a sportswoman_.

"And you brought us here because it's the most stable building in the whole of the city. But how did _you_ know it would be?"

Geraldine shrugged. "My father was a Priest of the Church before his stunning career in cardiology," she explained. "He told me in case of a quake the Cathedral or another Church building would be safest because of the faith once put into that."

"And those Workings still function to some degree," Damien nodded agreement.

"Exactly."

It was then that the quake struck.

More people came running into the Cathedral and the two were forced to stop talking when dust and small pieces of stone rained down from the ceiling. Damien immediately took her into his arms and pressed them both to the wall. In a quake ceilings tended to collapse first.

When the quake ended, the Cathedral still stood proud and arrogant, with ceiling paintings being the only thing damaged.

Geraldine coughed and raised her head from its comfortable place at her lover's shoulder.

The fae was still hot and blazing with raw power but the currents were smooth again. There would be no after-quake, of that she was sure.

"There shouldn't be," Damien agreed when she'd related it to him.

Apparently, one of the priests seemed to have Sight as well because the old man told the people crowding the hall they weren't in danger anymore.

Reluctantly, they started to leave the Cathedral, silently and swiftly returning to their work. People of the East were quite used to quakes, after all.

Geraldine smiled up at her lover. And was captured again by his emerald green eyes which shone with all the emotion she'd never felt before.

Their kiss made them oblivious to anything else.

Maybe that was the reason they didn't notice someone approaching until a stern voice spoke almost into their ears.

"What are the both of you _still_ doing here?" the old priest, that one with Vision, said, frowning sternly at them.

Reluctantly, they drew back out of the kiss but maintained the contact of their bodies. Geraldine looked at the old man, then at her lover again.

"Aaah," the priest said. "I understand. You want to get married!" And a bright smile cracked his until then serious expression.

"Umm.. Not exactly… but it may be not that bad an idea …" Geraldine said, all of a sudden developing an immense interest in the bright, now no longer intact ceiling pictures.

"Not yet …" Damien said. "But if you think," he added hesitatingly, casting a cautious glance at her.

Their gazes met, separating them from the world, creating a world of their owns, and into the sacred silence of the cathedral, they spoke in unison.

"_Yes._"

The old priest himself and two young priestesses to witness the marriage were enough for the ceremony.

"There might be a little problem," Geraldine pointed out. "We do not have any rings."

"Not a problem at all," the old man said, waving off. "Fortunately we've got a great donation of gold and jewelry last week. I'm sure of having seen lots of rings among it."

And not quite half an hour later they were standing in front of the altar, listening to the old priest's soft voice that bound them together. Looking into her lover's –her husband's– eyes, Geraldine felt an intense happiness and the absolute certainty of her choice being a right one. He took her hand, and his smile was an equally happy one.

With that kind of internal Sight that always had been part of her inborn abilities she suddenly knew that in this very moment, deep inside her body, a new life had begun. Still, she would buy a pregnancy kit later, just in case…

They left the Cathedral, their hands still joined, not willing to let go. Looking down at the rings, Geraldine started to laugh violently.

"What's so funny?" her hisband asked.

"I just imagined us breaking _these_ news on our families."

"Oh NO," he groaned.

"Oh YES," she said cheerfully.

"My father _will_ kill me," he explained.

"Yes," she confirmed. "If _my_ father doesn't do that first."

They parted very reluctantly. The decision not to simply stumble in on their families and proclaim their marriage hadn't been an easy one to make but, sadly, also the only possible one. And so they parted, each already waiting desperately for tomorrow to come.

* * *

Back on her way to the 'Blue Moon' where her father and she had checked in, thoughts whirling through her mind, Geraldine tried to bring some sense into the events of the day. She most surely hadn't expected to fall in love and marry in a single day's time when she'd left the hotel that morning. Though Damien seemed so familiar to her, as if she'd known him for ages.

Suddenly, she froze in mid-walking. Realization came with the force of a giant brick, hitting her right over the head. Of course the man she'd married few hours ago seemed familiar – she had only to look at her father's drawing! Sometimes family likeness was pretty much useful… As for the name… The information came easily to her, dragged to the surface of her conscious by sheer force of will. 'Silva' meant 'forest' in Latin, an ancient Terran language, a dead one – even long before humanity went to the stars. Well, that would be fitting. And suddenly feeling all the jigsaw pieces falling softly into place, she thought, _Got you._

Then, she smiled wickedly, a plan starting to take shape within her mind with increasing speed. Where the Hell could she find a good realtor at that late hour?

* * *

"Hey Dad!" Geraldine said much later this evening, her smile as bright as the light of sun and Core combined. "I have more great news for you," she went on, still smiling happily, and plopped down into the armchair.

"Should I be worried?"

"Perhaps, but you'll hardly have enough time to since you're going to get very … busy pretty soon," she said, grinning widely.

"I'm not sure if I want to know what that's supposed to mean," he remarked dryly.

"Oh never mind, Dad, never mind." She waved it off hastily.

"Tell me your news, then," he said, steeling himself for the worst. Well, maybe for the worst. His daughter had a quite different definition of 'worse'.

"Where shall I start… Well, I'm engaged…"

"I know you're working hard–"

"Both meanings, Dad."

"You're what?"

"Affianced," she clarified. "That means I was – this morning. In the mean time I've got married. Oh, and did I already tell you that I'm pregnant?"

"You're WHAT?" he repeated disbelievingly.

"I thought you were bored – not hard of hearing."

He stared at her in shock and confusion for a long, stretched-out moment. Then, he sat down rather abruptly as his legs suddenly lacked the strength to support him.

"We-e-e-ll," Damien Vryce said slowly. "I could understand an engagement even if I'd have preferred you asked me for advice first. But married? And PREGNANT?!"

She could practically hear the capitals. "Relax, Dad," she said, smiling brightly again. "And stop yelling. I'm a big girl."

"You're nineteen!"

"What else is new?"

"And I'm not yelling."

He got only a raised eyebrow for comment. "Do I get to know my son-in-law, then?" he sighed, giving up.

"Soon, Dad, soon. I'm planning some kind of family reunion. Consider it as a birthday present."

Something about this statement appeared weird to him but he didn't get any chance to work it out.

* * *

Two districts to the south Geraldine's new-made husband had a similar conversation that was likewise going to get out of any control.

"Good joke," Gerald da Silva, once called Tarrant, said wryly. "You should consider to become a comedian."

"I'm not joking, Father."

He never saw his father that astonished before. In fact, he didn't even know what astonishment looked like on this face. That meant, until now.

"You got married today?"

"Yes."

"Well, in that case, I would have appreciated to get informed about your engagement _yesterday_," Gerald said acidly.

"I surely would have informed you if I knew I'd meet the woman of my dreams _today_!" Damien da Silva exclaimed.

"Are you trying to tell me you know your wife not even for twenty four hours?"

"I'm not _trying_," he stressed. "I just do. And what does it matter if I feel like I've known her for a lifetime?"

"Calm down," a cool order came. "And before you burst into a doubtlessly euphoric description for your wife's many qualities, answer me this."

"Whatever," Damien shrugged nonchalantly. It had its benefits to learn from a master.

He met his father's unreadable eyes. Challenging.

Gerald da Silva laughed. Really, unmistakably, laughed.

"It seems, I made not that much mistakes while raising you," he remarked.

Damien grinned uncertainly. Was it really _that_ easy?

"You really are married?"

Now why was he sure that wasn't what his father first intended to ask?

"Yes."

"Before the face of the Church, not some kind of pagan ritual?"

"Yes. A priest has bound us to each other in the Jaggonath's Cathedral itself."

"But what the Hell did you think? _Did_ you think anything at all?" his father said. "You know, I've been looking for a good reason to disown you for so long." Dry humor again lurked between those words, turning the statement into their usual verbal sparring. That was something Damien da Silva didn't excel at. Not really. And sometimes he would get an odd feeling his father expected different reactions from him, different words. He'd filed that away along with all those little mysteries that seemed to surround his father like a large cloak. He had, also, long ago given up any notion to solve any of them. Some things you just have to radically accept.

"Father," he said, with emphasis. "Did you ever love somebody so much you could have given your life, have given _everything_ for that love?"

Looking intently into his father's black eyes, he didn't miss that face going paler beneath the olive hue even if the expression itself didn't change. The voice that finally answered his question, was as controlled as usual but strangely sad.

"I did," was all his father said.

"Was it with Mom?"

"No," the answer came with such finality that he realized there would be no way past it.

The silence grew deeper.

Damien had always known his father hadn't loved his mother. Whenever he spoke of her –and always, always he spoke of her kindly– there wasn't any emotion in his voice. He spoke however, readily. As if to make up for other things he never spoke of. Damien always had been curious about where his father had been before he settled in Jaggonath and married his mother. All he knew from putting together those tiniest pieces of information his father somehow had let slip over years, was that he'd been traveling for a time with a very good friend whose name his father never, ever uttered. And yet, something changed in his father's always controlled voice when he'd mentioned that man once or twice.

Damien looked at the living mystery that was his father.

The black eyes revealed nothing. He asked himself for the umpteenth time if there was someone else in the whole of Erna who'd despaired at this just like him.

"Will you tell me her name, then?" Gerald da Silva finally asked.

"Lady Geraldine of Sheva," Damien answered.

"The archaeologist?" And now something like surprise entered his father's eyes. "Well, I think you could have gotten it worse. Even if I don't understand why that brilliantly intelligent woman should have married such a fool."

* * *

"Dammit!" Geraldine said cheerfully next morning which met her leaving a realtor's bureau. To find a house in the north that suited her purposes had been the easier part. What now had to come, would be much more difficult. As if she didn't have enough problems already.

She hurried to the inn where her new-made husband was waiting for her.

"Was it bad?" she asked her husband after half an eternity of kissing at her announcement of being pregnant.

Damien beamed. "Well, I'm still _not_ disowned so I think it went _not_ bad."

Geraldine broke into laughter. "And my father still hasn't suffered a heart attack so I, too, think it went well."

"And what are we going to do know?"

She smirked. "Why, I think I should, well, meet family. It's tradition, after all."

Her husband grinned almost evilly. "Poor Father! He's in for a surprise."

* * *

She looked at the man behind the desk. She judged him to be in his middle thirties though she knew he had to be older. Long black hair, completely untouched by silver, framed features made even more perfect by passing of time. First thinnest lines around his eyes hinted at his true age but didn't lessen his beauty. Eyes under long lashes, both black as true night, met her gaze. Then, suddenly, turned away hastily as if to hide an emotion.

"What can I do for you, Mes?"

"May I introduce myself," she began, "though I'm a loremaster I sometimes do use my last name. It might have changed yesterday, the day before it was Vryce. Geraldine Vryce." If she had expected some kind of reaction –which she didn't– she would have been disappointed. But then again, she knew who that man was, who he had been. He must have recognized her due to family likeness or simply guessed. "But you've known that. As a loremaster I came to ask you for a tale. But all I want now is to ask you just one question."

Silence lengthened between them.

"Do you know what the inscription on the monument in front of the 'Memorial Hospital' in Sheva runs?" Geraldine finally asked, without expecting an answer. No, of course, he wouldn't know.

With that she turned and went to the door, leaving her father-in-law staring unseeingly at his hands.

Words, barely audible, breathed in a voice that was almost trembling, stopped her.

"'_To the ones we lost.'_"

Slowly, she turned around.

_TBC…_


	3. Part Three: Reunion

**Survivals**

by Shadowy Star

**Part 3**

**Reunion**

"Hey, Dad," Geraldine said and leaned against the door frame, avoiding the armchair so not to increase an intense feeling of déjà-vu.

"My lost daughter," Damien Vryce said dryly, rising his head from the newspaper he'd been reading.

She burst out laughing. "Exactly," she grinned after calming down.

"And now, once back again, I do not suppose you're intending to stay? Just to talk to your poor old Dad?" His tone was stern but in his eyes danced dozens of mischievous little devils. She took it that he no longer was angry with her. Too bad, that was about to change again, she thought.

Grinning evilly, she rolled her eyes. "No. I'm going to do some packing. And might I suggest for you to do the same?"

"Why?"

"We're checking out, of course. It's time for me to move in with my husband and for you to meet your son-in-law. And the rest of the family, on this occasion. Besides, I promised you a birthday present."

"It's _summer_. My birthday is on the first of February," he said, with emphasis.

"I know," Geraldine said cheerfully. "But you'll feel like it were today."

"Somehow it makes me vulking nervous."

"Why so?" she asked, almost succeeding in looking innocent. Almost.

"Long experience," he answered dryly.

She thumbed her nose at him.

"There goes my paternal authority," he said.

"I don't care," Geraldine grinned, kissed him on the cheek, and went to pack her belongings.

* * *

"Well," Geraldine continued half an hour later when the first shock at the sight of her husband's features had vanished from her father's face. "Let's go on with the niceties. Damien Vryce – Damien da Silva. My father – my husband. And Dad, before you ask – no, I don't have an Electra Complex!" She smirked.

The look of utter agony upon her father's face wasn't exactly what Geraldine had expected for reward.

Her father looked as if he'd seen Hell. _Damn,_ she thought, _that wasn't what I expected_. _Not at all. If he reacts that way to my Damien then I'd rather not introduce him to my father-in-law. I wasn't planning to give him a coronary!_

Damien Vryce tried to regain his composure and eventually succeeded. He'd understood, understood the implications of that incredible family likeness the younger man bore, understood finally –and completely belatedly– what his cunning daughter was planning.

Looking at the young man in front of him –his son-in-law now– he involuntarily registered all the likenesses to and differences from the man he'd met twenty years or so ago on an observation deck above a burning forest. Eyes green not black as true night – his mother's? Hair dark brown, again, not black – the woman had to be blond, he thought. At that, realization struck. Hard.

He was _jealous_. Utterly and completely jealous of a woman he was most likely to meet in a few minutes. He did wish Gerald all the best but to see his wife… How was he supposed to bear that? It was too much, too much…

He looked at his son-in-law again and some sense returned to him. It was unfair on this young man to let a past that had nothing to do with it influence a future he was about to build up together with his daughter. And, to judge by the look of utter love and devotion upon the both newly-weds' faces, that future would be a happy one. Damien smiled a genuine smile. "Make my daughter happy."

"Thank you, Dad," said Geraldine, her eyes shining with love and gratitude.

_All right, let's go over with it, _he thought. "I'd be pleased to meet your parents." Now _that_ was an exaggeration if he'd ever heard one.

Geraldine grinned. _Sure you are,_ she thought dryly.

Damien da Silva smiled. "My father only. My mother died in childbirth."

Damien Vryce exhaled a breath he didn't realized he'd been holding.

Once that was out of the picture, he felt anger rising. Daughter or not, he hated being manipulated.

"Would you mind if I talk to my daughter in private?" he asked his son-in-law, reining in his anger. For now.

The newly-weds exchanged a worried look. Geraldine gave her husband an reassuring nod and he left – not without another, even more worried, look over his shoulder.

"When did you plan to tell me you've married the son of my–" he cut off before he could say something … drastic. Perhaps he should have calmed down before starting this conversation.

"Your what?" Geraldine insisted, not fooled even for a second.

"My former companion," he finished lamely. No, he _most surely_ should have calmed down.

"Don't start that again!" Geraldine said angrily, her temper, not yet as controlled as her father's just as fierce one, taking over. "I married Damien because I love him – not because of his father! One God of Erna, how could I have known who the bloody damn vulking Hell his father is?! I'm _not_ able of Divining! You might like it or not I don't care – but you will accept my husband and his family!" She took a deep breath here to calm down. After a second or two she decided her patience with that stubborn father of hers had most definetely run out. "And stop denying. That will bring you nowhere – not with me and not with yourself either. So your _what_?"

"Should I say 'my only true love'?! Would _that_ satisfy you?!" he demanded in an uncharacteristic display of anger, his control over his emotions shattering.

Geraldine smiled disarmingly, offering peace. "Don't you think I'm the wrong person to confess to?" She took her father's sleeve and pulled slightly into the direction of the living room. Considering her options as she did so. Given her father's reaction it probably would be the wisest to at least warn her father-in-law of what was coming through his door.

"I suggest you wait here," she said to her father.

Damien frowned. He felt somewhat like a doll being dragged around.

"It won't be long," she assured, then knocked softly and entered.

* * *

"What makes you think I have tales to tell?" the man now called Gerald da Silva asked, looking up at her from the book he'd obviously been reading.

"As I said. I'm a loremaster." And she felt the last one of the jigsaw pieces finding its place.

"I thought I already told you everything you wanted to know," he said.

"Not everything," she replied. "Let's start an exercise for our imaginations again. If I got it right, a Working as powerful as Gerald Tarrant's last one had to require a lot of energy."

He nodded slightly in agreement.

"But not all of that energy was needed for a shape shifting, even a permanent one," Geraldine continued thankfully. "So where did it all go?"

"It could have been used for many things," he shrugged but Geraldine refused to let him off the hook that easily. His shrug hadn't held even a resemblance of confidence. To her well educated eyes it had looked … uncertain.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked. Geraldine sensed there was a right and a wrong answer. She drew a deep breath. Time to make an educated guess.

"Because there's still something –one particular thing, to be precise,– I simply don't understand."

"Now would you please _be_ precise and tell me?" he snorted.

Geraldine smiled.

"I just can't believe that a man of Gerald Tarrant's intelligence and experience with … well, let's say cheating death… wouldn't have taken care of a back door in his … arrangement. He managed to keep his soul out of the Unnamed Ones' reach for more than nine hundred years and to do so successfully. I somehow doubt there would be someone or something on Erna that could have stopped Gerald Tarrant from getting what he wanted."

"And what, only hypothetically speaking of course, might that have been?"

Geraldine inwardly started a countdown.

Ten, nine, eight, seven–

A knocking on the door cut through the silence as sharply as a knife.

Yes!

She was Damien Vryce's daughter for a reason.

She gave her opponent a bright, knowing smile. "This." And to the door she said: "Enter."

* * *

She looked from her father to her father-in-law. And back again.

The silence grew deeper. Everything felt like frozen in time. Golden flakes of dust danced in white sun beams. Past erasing present.

Geraldine stood still, caught in the moment's spell, her artist's soul singing.

She saw and appreciated the beauty in that split second, in two pair of brown eyes and one black, in the knowing silence, in words unsaid and questions answered without a sound… In quiet exchange of glances and gazes, of softening eyes and curving of lips, of volumes of meaning and a conversation she was gently being excluded from.

The silence stretched further, becoming tense, becoming heavy, becoming expectant and Geraldine answered its melody easily, her voice soft enough not to obliterate the harmony of it, a gentle counterpoint.

"Mer da Silva, may I introduce – my father, Doctor Damien Vryce," she said.

Something changed, tension rising, reaching for all three of them.

"Dad," Geraldine continued. "This is Mer da Silva, my father-in-law."

Still nothing from neither of the two but the silence fled, was altered, and again, she responded to that, to the need for a conclusion.

Turning around to go and passing by her father in the process, she softly spoke, her words a last note to the music between the three of them.

"Happy Birthday."

* * *

Three days later, she was ready to admit playing matchmaker on those two stubborn as mules males might have been a bad idea.

"Dad!" she said, with emphasis. She was standing, again, in the library, and having the same conversation with her father they'd had each day before. Only this time, she decided, she wouldn't let her father get away as before.

"Did it ever occur to you that if anyone keeps telling you you're being an idiot maybe it's because you are?"

That earned her a furious glare.

"What did I do this time?!"

"You've been avoiding Gerald for days now! I didn't even know before how one can manage to avoid another when living in the same house!"

"And did it possibly occur to _you_ that to set up your poor old Dad with a much younger man was not that brilliant an idea?!" he retorted angrily.

"No," she said serenely, "because I thought that neither of you looks his age and therefore decided not to bother," Geraldine smiled cheerfully, leaning over to get a book from the shelf to her right.

"What do you mean?" he asked and realized, of course belatedly, he'd fallen for that old trick.

"Dad," Geraldine said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again. "Did you look into a mirror lately?"

"Of course," he said, confused. "Every morning while shaving."

"Then take a closer look next time!"

With that, she whirled around and left.

Later this morning, Damien Vryce tried to get his daughter into explaining what she'd meant but only got an innocent look and a cheerful smile for answer. Which was so not helping. Well, maybe after the breakfast…

* * *

Later the same morning, Geraldine was looking down at her blueberry muffin –she thankfully didn't have any of the early pregnancy problems yet–, very careful not to meet either older man's eyes.

Damn!

Breakfast was supposed to be a cheerful affair not the meteorological phenomenon usually known as the calm before the storm.

_Alright,_ she thought angrily. _Time to change that._

She didn't know what happened between them the other day. All she knew that the two didn't talk for long, since she'd seen her father leaving the library only minutes after she did. And today, after having exchanged a curt 'Morning!', both her father and father-in-law had walked to their seats and hadn't speak a word to each other.

Well, she didn't damn care! They should consider to behave like adults or… She didn't get enough time to figure out the 'or' because just then, the perfect moment jumped into existence.

"Would you please pass me the honey?" Gerald da Silva said icily to Damien Vryce who was sitting across the huge table in the equally huge dining room.

"Honey? How sweet…" she made dreamily, looking straight into her namesake's eyes. "Don't you think?" And she added a quick glance in her father's direction just to make sure no one would think she was talking about sweets.

Gerald's face acquired a funny expression for a tiny moment, something between disbelief, anger and the urgent need to laugh, and then, he retorted. "Why, of course is honey sweet."

Geraldine had expected no less.

"So you like your Honey?" she asked innocently and had the rare pleasure of watching Gerald da Silva rendered speechless. There was no way he could admit that and, by the look on his face, he knew that.

Next to her, her Damien tried to stifle a chuckle.

And Damien Vryce burst out laughing.

_Yesss,_ Geraldine thought, unsuccessfully trying to keep her satisfaction from her features.

Her namesake send a murderous glare her way, and then, much to everyone's surprise, joined in the fun.

"Nice phrasing," he admitted finally with a slight incline of his head when the collective attention returned to breakfast again.

"Glad to be of help," Geraldine said, her eyes practically glowing with mischief. "Oh, and would you please stop batting your eyelashes on my father," she added as an afterthought.

"I'm not commenting this," Gerald said.

"I think you just did." She said, smiling evilly.

It was then when both Damiens exchanged a look and, again, burst into gales of laughter.

For the rest of their breakfast there was a slight warming in the atmosphere, and Geraldine allowed herself to relax a little. And when later that day she watched her father follow Gerald to the same library where she and said father had had their argument this morning, the air seemed calmer between them, and there was even a slight bounce to her father's step.

Geraldine smiled. Her smile widened as two strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist.

"Damien," she said, leaning back into her husband's embrace.

"What are you doing?" he asked, lying tiny kisses to the side of her neck.

"Assessing collateral damage, one could say." Then, she gasped as Damien's lips found _that_ spot right beneath her ear and all thoughts of stubborn fathers fled her. With one graceful movement she turned around, kissed her husband's soft lips and shoved him into the nearest room to the right which appeared to be the kitchen.

"Do you want to cook?" he asked with a grin, his emerald eyes sparkling. He was so not thinking about cooking.

She got that mischievous look in her eyes he loved so much. "No. I can't cook," she admitted, still smiling.

"What? Not at all?"

"No. The only thing I can make without burning down half the house are instant noodles."

Her husband smiled. "Then how did you survive?"

"My father does all the cooking. He's great at it."

"Lucky you. I had to learn that all because my father doesn't know a single thing about it."

Then, he frowned.

"Our families just so complete each other. That's somehow so coincidental…"

Geraldine sighed softly. She hated not being able to tell her husband what she knew and he needed to know. _Think,_ she ordered herself. _You're a loremaster, you're supposed to be smart, so think of something right this instant._

And then she grinned. What had worked with her namesake, should do perfectly with his son. Storytelling was her job, after all.

"Well," she said cheerfully and teasingly kissed him on the corner on his mouth. "I'm hungry."

He smiled happily. There were lots of things a person could hunger for.

"So if you'd like to do something about that, I'd like to tell you a story in return. Or rather, two."

"A story?"

"I'm a loremaster, remember?"

"Is it a story about volcanoes? I'm a seismologist, remember?" he asked eagerly.

"Well, the first one has a volcano in it, and the second … well, we'll have to see about that."

He grinned, and then kissed her.

She laughed. "Oh no, Love, the real story first. On the other hand," she made thoughtfully, "you may have a chance to convince me otherwise."

"Oh, only one chance? Guess, I should make good use of it," he said smugly, pressing them together again.

And at that point, Geraldine couldn't care less about the stubborn rest of her family.

* * *

Inside the library, two men were completely unaware of the fact that right now they weren't on the mind of two certain newly-weds who simply had better things to do.

They were standing with only a few feet parting them, looking anywhere but at each other.

"I honestly never expected you to become a family man," Gerald said, neutrally.

"And just when did you get that much insight into a stranger's mind?" Damien shot back, angrily.

"Since said stranger showed up at my doorstep!" Gerald retorted.

"Something I'm starting to regret, trust me on that," Damien said, calming down, enjoying their familiar banter.

"I trust you. You wouldn't be here if I didn't. Us being in-laws or not."

Damien felt his heart cease beating. He met the other man's eyes straight on, not recognizing the emotion in those black eyes but acknowledging its strength. What could he say to answer that?

"Speaking of which," Gerald continued, "you don't want to explain how the vulk your daughter managed that?"

"Stop stealing my lines." But there was a shadow of a smile in his voice and he looked much younger all of a sudden.

Silence slowly crept into the room as neither spoke.

Damien's thoughts were on times and dreams long gone… Sadness once again engulfed his heart.

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet those of his former companion, his still friend and his possible lover. His only love.

"So," Damien said, not letting the sadness show in his eyes.

"So," Gerald echoed, his black eyes, too, revealing nothing.

Damien smiled. Some things never changed.

"Something funny?" the other man asked and Damien's smile widened.

"I was thinking about continuality," he answered lightly. "Isn't it funny that amid big changes we find comfort in small things that remain unchanged?"

Gerald's eyes widened at that just a tiny bit. "Perhaps we're used to those small things. Perhaps we like them."

"Perhaps," Damien nodded slightly. "Or it's because they remind us of the past." He couldn't hide the sadness anymore and he didn't want to. What the Hell… "Of the past we miss. Badly."

A gasp escaped Gerald's lips at that, and Damien was surprised to see the black eyes soften, their surface breaking, showing–

"The past we loved," Gerald said, his eyes soft, sincere, _open_, and Damien felt his heart clench in his chest. Such hope was in those eyes, so unlike Gerald to show this but this was a new life and perhaps that was one of the things that _had_ changed…

"Yes, we did," he said, smiling. And saw his smile reflected in the black eyes and on the thin lips.

Silence reigned again but it was connecting them and no longer parting.

When black met hazel brown again their was an understanding flowing between them and more than that.

"Perhaps," Gerald began, "we should remember the past." And he smiled reassuringly at his former companion, his still friend and his future lover. His only love. "And see what future we can build upon it."

"It wouldn't be easy." Damien's smile was something in between joy and sadness. The sadness was still present but no longer the only inhabitant of his heart.

"Yes," a soft agreement and an answering smile, just like his own, filled with the same joy and sadness but also with much, much more – hope, relief, love. "And it would take time, I guess?"

"Yes," Damien answered.

"But wouldn't it be worth trying?"

"More than that, Gerald, more than that."

And in this moment, Damien accepted the offer. As he accepted the man offering.

There was still much more to be resolved between them but they would take one step at a time and together, they would success.

* * *

Another two days later, Geraldine had to admit things were improving. No more icy glares, no more icy words, no more icy smiles. If it went at that pace, they could turn off the heat in only a few centuries. Definitely improvement to 'never', she thought sarcastically as she watched another gathering of people to sit down and consume food, otherwise known as dinner.

And yet, she couldn't help but observe, something had definitely changed since the day before yesterday. Something had relaxed in both men. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And of course, she was going to enjoy every tiny scene of that spectacle.

So now, she just sat there, watching that mulish father of hers discussing something involving faith and Church with her not-a-bit-less-stubborn father-in-law.

Having decided that those two could be left without surveillance for a few minutes, she was just about to play footsie with her husband when Gerald said something and looked at the older Damien just the right way to…

"Stop flirting that obviously!" Geraldine demanded, unsuccessfully trying to sound serious. "That's becoming embarrassing."

Damien da Silva laughed, reached over, and pulled his wife into his lap. "Never mind, Love. In my family, parents only exist for the sole reason to embarrass their children."

"Though I really enjoy your company," Gerald said to his daughter-in-law, "are you sure you want to stay married to this disappointment of a son?"

Geraldine chuckled softly and wrapped her arms around her husband's waist.

"That remains to be seen," she said playfully. "So far, I'm perfectly content."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," said husband answered. And then the newly-weds exchanged a look that successfully horrified Geraldine's father as he managed to catch it.

"Stop right there," he told his daughter. "Whatever you do, you better don't. And you, my dear son-in-law," he warned, "stop thinking about participating in whatever she's planned."

"Who, me? Now what could I possibly have in mind?" Geraldine said, the very picture of an unrightfully accused soul.

"What do you mean?" Gerald asked, affection clear in his eyes as he looked at the other man.

Damien Vryce smiled a huge smile in response and explained. "Well, usually, when my genius daughter over there has _that_ look on her face, you better run as fast as you can."

"Dad!" Geraldine protested loudly, her efforts to stop laughing only fairly successful. "Unfair!" she exclaimed.

"I happen to think that, too," the younger Damien said, grinning widely.

"Gerald, if you're not going to help me, I swear, I go and paint your house pink all over!"

Gerald shuddered. "You go and try that and I'll drop a bottle of my latest chemistry experiment onto your bed!"

"So what? It belongs to you, in the end. I'll just move out!"

"No, you won't!"

Silence reigned then, and three pairs of eyes, two hazel brown, one emerald green, looked at him in shock.

"What?" Damien Vryce whispered barely audible.

"For God's sake!" Geraldine said exasperatedly to the air between the two men. Now just who did she get her stubbornness from? "Finish your business! Or decide not to."

Damien da Silva looked at his father then at his wife again. And burst into laughter.

That got a smile out of both older men, and Geraldine got an idea.

"Love," she turned to her husband, smiling wickedly, "should we go and set a good example for them to follow?"

He got with the program instantly. "I think it's a brilliant idea!" And then he pulled her closer.

"It's called a kiss," Geraldine informed the other two a little time lately, after stopping demonstrate just this. "It's really easy." And to her husband, she continued. "At least, lack of education isn't going to be an excuse anymore. Come on, let's leave them to their business. Which's long overdue, by the way."

And before any of them could protest, Geraldine turned and exited the room, with her husband and a stunned silence in her wake.

"Do you think this will come to some sort of a happy ending?" he asked as they made their way down the corridor.

"Knowing my father I rather doubt it," Geraldine answered, grabbing her sun hat.

"Knowing _my_ father I'd be glad if it comes to _any_ ending," he added then.

At that, she laughed.

They closed the entrance door behind them.

"Do you think there will be something left of the house when we're back?"

"I don't want to find out in the first place. Let's go," Geraldine said. And smiled.

* * *

Much later this evening her father-in-law found her in the living room.

"We need to talk," he said, curtly.

"Finally. I almost felt neglected, with all your attention an my father," she leered.

"You aren't trying to play matchmaker on us, are you?" Gerald da Silva asked suspiciously.

Geraldine gave him one of her famous, wicked smiles. "Me? Never!"

He raised a skeptical brow at that.

"Of course I do. How _could_ I resist?" Her smile grew wider and even more wicked as she reconsidered his last remark. "But I do believe there's no need for that anymore. Usually two people who refer to themselves as 'us' can be considered a couple, don't you think?"

He growled quietly at that, and she smiled at him far too angelically to appear innocent.

"That's all daughterly duty, you know."

_TBC…_


	4. Part Four: Reassurance

**Survivals**

by Shadowy Star

**Part 4**

**Reassurance**

"I do believe, Vryce, your daughter has already rearranged our lives in a truly brilliant way."

"Thank you very much," Geraldine said politely another sunny lunch half a week later.

"Of course. She's _my_ daughter," Damien Vryce said proudly, halfway through his dessert of fresh nu-cherries and sweet cream with almonds.

"Are you sure of that?" Gerald shot back immediately, and Geraldine rose to her feet, motioning her husband to do the same. She'd learned quickly when it was a good idea to get out of range. Or run for cover. Whatever.

"Youuu," the other man said, narrowing his eyes. Then, he collected all the nu-cherry pits and started to throw them one by one at the other man's head.

"Then again," Gerald said dryly, hastily raising an arm to shield his face, "considering her given name..."

At that, Geraldine gripped the younger Damien's sleeve, rolled her eyes, said,

"_Parents,_"

and went to the door, dragging her somewhat perplexed-looking husband after her.

"We're leaving then," she said from the doorway.

"Yes," Damien da Silva added from beside her. "You may want to ...umm... _talk_," he sneered, putting all he'd learned on verbal competition finally to good use. Oh revenge so sweet...

"Have fun," Geraldine added, quickly closing the door as she saw some nu-cherry pits flying in her direction.

"This means we're some kind of step-siblings now?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous. We're just our fathers' children," she said, grinning, and pulled him into her arms and towards their bedroom.

She planned to keep him there at least until dinner.

* * *

The evening found them sitting in the spacious living room, Gerald reading and sipping on his wine, Geraldine pretending to be reading sans the wine, her husband pretending to be pretending to be reading and her father oblivious to it all. The latter was regarding a large map of Erna's three continents spread on an expensive, extremely well-made giant of a table, much like Geraldine's own back in Sheva. She would bet it was even made in the same manufacture. Around another, smaller but equally well-made, table were three chairs made of the same dark wood.

Then her father leaned forward and drew her attention to him. Had he not been who he was, a vulking knight in vulking shining armor that is ‒_Oops,_ she thought at the many vulkings, _damn early pregnancy mood swings_,‒ she would have believed he'd done so on purpose. On the other hand, sometimes he could be a sneaky devil if he wanted to.

_And even if so, way to go, Dad,_ she thought then, _too_ _obvious. But still, nice try_.

However, from a heterosexual woman's point of view, Geraldine had to admit the way he was leaning now presented a nice view on his behind. The black pants he chose to wear tonight hugged him in all the right places. Geraldine quickly looked at her father-in-law, noting with satisfaction he was watching her father's ..._attributes..._ very appreciatively and with something akin to hunger in his eyes.

Ah. This was, finally, the answer to the question how far they had gone. Or hadn't, which was really a shame, she mused. Damn, what did they need? A vulking engraved invitation?

"So," she said, successfully ending all the silences in the room. She stood and walked over to her father, smiling wickedly.

"Trying to seduce your fellow in-law in front of your daughter? Not to mention the son of said in-law?" she whispered, making sure no one else could hear them. He straightened hastily which confirmed her suspicions. He _hadn't_ done it on purpose. _Stubborn men!_ she thought.

Damien Vryce turned a rather unattractive shade of red. And sat down quite abruptly.

Geraldine hid her mischievous grin and decided to show mercy by turning her head and looking down at the map.

It was the best she'd ever seen and that was saying a _lot_. As an archeologist, she relied on maps on an every day basis. Little wonder her father had seemed so enthralled with it. The lines were drawn with an almost inhuman precision, the paper itself so white and smooth when she touched her finger to it, far too smooth, like polished or covered with an additional layer of something... Wait a second‒

"This is one of the Ship's maps, isn't it? And _not_ a copy, I assume?"

"You assume right," Gerald answered, standing and also stepping closer.

"Wow," she made, impressed.

"It's one of only three left. The other two are currently displayed at the 'Jaggonath Museum of History'. So much had been lost..." He sat down, tracing the nearly vertical line of the Dividers with a fingertip. Deep sadness and regret that had nothing to do with lost maps lay behind brown and black as two quiet glances met and Geraldine had to avert her own eyes at the intensity.

She went around the table to the smaller one where wine, beer, fruits and cheese were arranged in an artful composition. Sitting down, she reached for an apple and a napkin, careful to stay away from the table and its precious cargo.

"Though I have to inform you the coastline had changed a bit over the centuries," she said thoughtfully.

"Insignificantly," said Gerald.

"Not so insignificantly. On a planet as seismic active as Erna the plate tectonics are stronger and thus have a greater effect on geography. On Earth, as far as we know, seismic activity was less impressive. There it might have taken millions of years to actually _see_ significant continental drift. Am I right, Love?" Geraldine asked her completely flabbergasted husband.

"Hey, I thought seismology was my area!" said husband exclaimed, coming over and playfully swatting his wife on the arm.

"Better get used to that," Damien Vryce commented lightly, walking over to the smaller table, sitting down again and helping himself to a beer.

Damien da Silva cursed under his breath, muttering something along the lines of whose daughter his wife was and Geraldine laughed, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips before all this comparing could lead into areas at least two of them wouldn't wish to discuss.

Stunned silence reigned.

"See," she said cheerfully, "my knowledge on communication methods can be very _help__ful_ sometimes."

"Communication methods?" Gerald asked, getting her meaning at an impressive speed.

"Well, of course, for example, in early Dark Ages," she decided to take pity on him, "in villages down the Serpent there was a habit of kissing only in daylight because they thought the risk of kissing an incubus/succubus was lesser that way," she cheerfully went into lecturing mode.

"Idiotic habit," Gerald played along, barely concealed gratitude in his voice, "a true succubus or incubus doesn't need to hide from sunlight."

"I completely agree with you," said Geraldine. "But I imagine try telling them that was a bit ... difficult!"

"You might be right on that." He also sat down at the small table, pouring himself some wine, the distance between him and the older Damien smaller than it would have been only days ago.

Geraldine smiled brightly. "After this _enlightening_ conversation I think I need some peace and quiet."

"Why? Having not enough fun?" Gerald asked, lifting a delicate eyebrow, and that look was ..._oh_.

She decided not to think of its effects on her father's brain functions. And other functions as well.

Then again... Dying of curiosity, Geraldine went for the easiest solution,'accidentally' dropping her napkin. Bending down to retrieve it, she darted a glance under the table. And nearly burst out laughing because her father wasn't the only one having a certain 'problem' right then. She wondered if there was a way to ask her father-in-law to stand just to see the look on his face at the request but dropped the idea. She chose life, thank you very much.

On the other hand, teasing those two was just too much fun and they so deserved it. And needed it perhaps even more.

"I think you two should marry," she exclaimed innocently, the expression to her eyes being as far from innocent as possible.

Pfffft.

Sweet beer out of Jahanna was spit out, and a goblet of fine red wine was set down onto the table rather abruptly, the precious fluid being spilled around it.

Her father started to cough.

"If he dies of aspiration pneumonia I wouldn't be pleased," Gerald remarked dryly, having regained his composure in record time.

"Thanks a lot‒ Wait a minute, does that mean you would be pleased if I die of something else?" Damien Vryce managed between coughs.

Geraldine couldn't help but burst into gales of laughter.

"Why again shouldn't we be selling tickets to that show?" she asked her husband.

"Sense of self-preservation?" he asked rhetorically in return.

"Oh. You might have a point."

She was very good at the art of distraction.

* * *

The evening had passed quietly despite all the unresolved sexual tension, filled with laughter and teasing and exchange of stories and memories, establishing new bonds and replacing old ones, on the whole binding them all together as a family.

Damien and Gerald had been talking a lot, off in their own little world, under the watchful eye of their children.

Geraldine tried to not tease too much, wholeheartedly supported by her husband which earned said husband more of her 'communication methods' and the thankfulness of both older men.

After Gerald had left, beckoning his son to follow, Damien Vryce managed to close the living room's door before _his_ daughter had a chance to slip past him and out of it.

"Dad," she said, expectantly raising a brow.

Despite himself, Damien broke into laughter. "You spend too much time in Gerald's company."

Geraldine smiled. "True. Jealous?"

At that, she had a not-so-rare-anymore pleasure to see her father blush.

"Of course not!"

"Yeah, sure," she made. "Well, what did you want?" Her patience was rather thin these days.

"What the vulk is going on?"

"As in what, Dad?"

"As in what did you mean when you said 'take a closer look next time'!"

Geraldine glared. And put the pile of books down she was intending to read sometime soon before she could get tempted to drop them onto her father's feet. Rather forcefully. She was _so_ not eager to get into this. Really, why was she always the one to do all the work here? she wondered, slightly annoyed. _Let's see if I can distract you again, Dad, _she thought. _And if not..._

"Exactly what I said. Take a closer look at your own face preferably using a reflective surface such as a mirror," she explained sarcastically. Sadly, sarcasm was wasted on him.

"Thank you so very much for that exceedingly detailed answer!"

"Glad to be of service!"

Damien couldn't help laughing.

"As I said," he said, still smiling, "too much time spent in your namesake's company."

Geraldine's answering laugh was warm. "And what's wrong with that? Beside of you being jealous, of course?"

"Stop that!" he said, ignoring his ‒again‒ coloring cheeks. "And would you please finally tell me what's wrong with my face?"

Geraldine rolled her eyes, his fake politeness causing her to keep chuckling softly. "May I suggest for you to use your brain? You know, that not so big gray thing within your skull you've been neglecting for a while now? Little wonder, since you've been thinking with completely different parts of your anatomy lately," she had to point out.

"Geraldine!" Damien Vryce tried to summon a shocked expression to his face but failed and burst into laughter once more. Too much like Gerald...

"Yes Dad?"

"Sometimes I seriously wonder just whose daughter you are," he said, growing serious again. "You're really much like him."

Geraldine smiled softly at him. "You raised me with him on your mind, Dad, and you know that. So what's there to wonder about?"

Damien stared at his daughter in shock. "I never thought about it that way but I think you're right. I'm sorry."

"Dad," she said serenely. "Stop apologizing. We're human. We always look for traces of our loved ones in the faces of our children. Whether said children are biologically theirs or not. What's wrong with that?"

He smiled uncertainly, completely thrown by his daughter's insight. "Nothing," he said then because he didn't know what else to say. His far too smart, far too insightful, far too compassionate daughter had just adopted Gerald into their family without even so much as blink. Accepted him as a parent just because she knew it was important to her father. To both her fathers. Damien smiled. "Nothing at all."

They said in silence for a while, Geraldine full of wicked plans concerning a wedding, Damien thinking of how much his daughter was all grown up and he somehow managed to miss half of it. When did that happen? he wondered.

"When did you grow up?" he said softly, the faintest traces of melancholy in his voice.

Geraldine looked at him. She didn't like going all sentimental, at least not right now.

So she smiled wickedly. "When you were busy chasing after my namesake!"

Damien was still laughing when he realized this far too mischievous daughter of his had never answered his initial question.

"Stop avoiding the subject," he said, trying to sound stern.

"Nice try, Dad, but you really should work on that."

"Geraldine!"

"Alright, alright." She so didn't want to discuss that but complaining wasn't to get her anywhere so, sighing softly, she straightened her back and turned to meet her father's eyes. Maybe it was better to tell him outright. Subtlety was a rare quality, after all, and, sadly, not one of his. "How old do you think you look?"

Damien blinked. "Well, my age, a few years less, I think."

"You think. Are you blind in addition to being stupid?" she exploded.

Damien blinked some more. "What do you mean?"

Geraldine drew a breath. Then another. "What I mean, Dad," she said, waving with an old picture of them together taken on her first birthday before his face, "is that you aged very little since then if at all."

_TBC..._


	5. Part Five: Rearrangement

**Survivals**

by Shadowy Star

**Part 5**

**Rearrangement**

She shoved the picture into her father's hands and turned to leave.

Figuring he needed them more right now, she left her pile of books where it sat and exited the room.

Damien stared after her for a while before looking again at the picture in his hands. In doing so, his gaze fell at the topmost book.

'Semantics' the title ran.

He swore violently and rushed out of the room. Except for that he wasn't trying to find his mischievous daughter this time, rushing out of a room was something he did quite often lately. At this rate, he was going to be an expert in a few days.

* * *

He found Gerald, unsurprisingly, in the library, sitting in one of those very comfortable armchairs, carefully turning pages of an ancient looking book.

He stomped over to the chair which caused the man he loved to put the book aside and look up at him with a slightly irritated expression.

"Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Damien hissed and thrust the picture he held into Gerald's hands. "What's this?" he demanded.

Gerald looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Very obviously it is a picture of your annoying self," he said then.

"Oh, at least we know you don't need glasses!"

"Thankfully, no, I don't need them."

"Neither do I."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong? Gerald, I'm fifty-eight. And this," he motioned to the picture, "was taken on Geraldine's first birthday, almost precisely eighteen years ago. Now _you_ tell me how it is possible for me not to have aged a day since then, because as a medic, I fail to find an explanation that doesn't involve you and a very complex Working or two!"

"Again, what's wrong with that?"

"Your reasons which I'm not sure I want to think about, that's what's wrong! You play with very complex mechanisms here and all I want to know is why!"

Anger flashed briefly in Gerald's eyes as he stood. "What's wrong with wanting to spend your life with the person you love?" he spat. "What's wrong with wishing that life would last longer than a few years? What's wrong with being content with knowing said person lives somewhere, even if it isn't with you?" He averted his eyes, face unreadable once more.

Damien stared at his other in complete shock. "Gerald… Do you know what you're saying? Do you _mean_ what you're saying?" Slowly he raised his hand and placed it onto Gerald's chest, right above the sternum. The heartbeat he felt was rapid, belying the other man's impassive expression. Ever so gently, he let his hand slide up and turned Gerald's face to him.

Gerald looked at him then, eyes intense and for once, he wasn't having any difficulty to recognize the emotions in those black depths. There was lust and there was fear, there was insecurity that made Damien's heart clench, and a wonder Damien had never thought he'd see reflected there but first and foremost there was love.

For a second, neither spoke, both being afraid to scare the other away.

Then, Gerald smirked. "You know, as much as I hate to get entangled in that sugary, syrupy, caries inducing heart-to-heart we seem unable to avoid I probably have to admit‒"

Damien grinned. "Admit later. You always talk too much." And with that, he gripped Gerald's fine silk shirt, yanked him closer and crushed their lips together.

* * *

"What were you doing?" Damien da Silva asked his wife outside the very same library.

"Trying to talk some sense into my father," she answered. "Doing so to _yours_ is a waste of time!"

He kissed her lightly on the lips.

"How was work?" she asked.

"Not so great. The after quake prognosis is downright depressing."

She looked at him, all the sympathy and support in the world in her eyes. "How so?"

"That fault is quite active and given the rock morphology there, it's only a question of time for the next quake to strike, and we're talking days here not weeks."

Geraldine looked thoughtful. "Is the hypocenter moving up or down?"

"Up."

"Damn!" The shallower a quake was, the more damage to buildings it caused.

"Yeah. We were lucky last time."

"You know, I always disliked shortsightedness in people. Like sealing the fae against humans' influences, for example."

"Completely agree with you. How much power do you think do the wards hold? Enough for a quake, let's say about 6,5?"

"The majority of them, yes. Though I wouldn't want to be caught somewhere in the outer districts during a quake this strong."

"Do you think we need to evacuate?"

"To answer that I need to have a look or two at the wards. How convenient then I was planning to go there anyway."

He looked at her. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"You're a really fast learner, Love," she smirked, kissed him on the lips and turned to go.

A quite disheveled looking Damien Vryce stepped out of the library, carefully closing the door behind him.

That, even more than the state of his clothes, earned him two synchronously raised eyebrows on two equally smirking faces.

"What are you up to – again?" Damien Vryce asked his daughter, surely the initiator of whatever it was, suspiciously.

"Meeting family," she answered serenely. "I thought it were traditional. Besides, I need to decide whom to invite to the wedding."

"What wedding? I thought you _were_ already married," he said.

"I wasn't talking about _my_ wedding, Dad," she pointed out sweetly.

He looked as if he wasn't sure whether to hyperventilate or drop dead immediately until Geraldine shook her head.

"It's pointless," she said, "to get a heart attack – for a cardiologist."

Walking away, she still could hear both Damiens laugh.

* * *

The next morning held promises of a wonderful day, the sky palest of blues painted with pinks, yellows and oranges where the bright Ernan sun was mischievously peaking from behind the horizon. The Core was up already, bathing everything in its golden light. Geraldine smiled just as mischievously. It could be a wonderful day indeed, she mused, entering the Temple of Pleasure. Being here that early, she hoped to catch Karril's attention before his numerous worshipers flooded the Temple.

"Karril," she called. She hadn't much experience in communicating with Erna's part-human, part-alien 'gods' but figured a direct approach may be the best.

"Do you want to join our community?" a priestess asked, full red lips smiling, bright green eyes twinkling. Her nearly transparent silk gown left almost nothing to one's imagination.

Geraldine smiled. To her eyes, the nature of this being was as clear as the sunlit sky outside.

"Nice to meet you," she said politely. "God of Pleasure."

The Iezu raised his hands in acknowledgment.

Then, the shape of the priestess immediately was replaced by those of a handsome young man with hair like molten copper and eyes as violet as amethysts, an appearance designed solely to match Geraldine's –who liked her lovers exotic, alright, alright, _had_ liked her lovers exotic– expectations on male beauty. She smiled as the attempt failed.

"Ohh," Karril said, disappointed. Then, he started grinning brightly. "Newly-wed, are you?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Which, by the way, is the reason to visit you. Believe it or not but we're …umm… some kind of step-siblings I guess. Or step-cousins."

"What?" Karril suddenly looked almost immaterial from sheer surprise.

"Since I'm married to the son of a certain brilliant and even more stubborn scientist. Which makes me some sort of step-aunt to this beautiful baby," she pointed to her right.

'This beautiful baby' decided to take shape of an eight-foot-tall, violet-skinned, naked woman with three pairs of arms as the goddess of dance appeared before her father and his visitor. Dance. Of course. The child born of the union of the god of ecstasy and the goddess of beauty…

"Kasari," the former said. "Be nice to your … step-aunt. This is Lady Geraldine da Silva of Sheva. Lady," he said, "this is my daughter, Kasari."

"She's also my daughter, dear brother. I was involved in the procreation processes as much as you were if not more," Saris said smiling, taking shape to Geraldine's left.

The goddess of beauty was –of course– beautiful. Her silvery skin glowed with an inner light and her face was perfect beyond description. When she smiled it was like thousand suns breaking through the clouds.

Geraldine averted her eyes. Beyond some point perfect beauty hurts.

"Sorry," Saris said and changed her appearance, lessening her beauty. "However, I was only reacting to your imagination. You should become an artist with an imagination like this."

Geraldine nodded. "Maybe I will. Actually, I like to draw. I would do it more often than necessary in my line of work if I weren't that occupied lately. Which, as I told your …umm… partner, is the reason to pay you a visit."

Saris smiled brightly at the 'partner'.

"I was going to ask you how we could be related," Karril said, looking at the only human being in this room.

Kasari chose this moment to disappear, clearly thinking the situation boring.

"Don't stop on my account," Saris encouraged her partner.

"Well?"

"I'm not sure if I got it all straight, Iezu relationships and family membership being as confusing as they are, but all of you have the same mother. Which makes each of you Riven Forrest's half-brother or -sister."

Karril and Saris nodded simultaneously.

"And the Hunter being his father, well… that would make Damien da Silva his half-brother as well, only on the other side – and thus your step-brother. And therefore it makes me, as his wife, your step-sister-in-law!" she exclaimed happily.

"You've lost me," Karril admitted, making a great show of scratching his forehead.

"She's right, darling," Saris said. "But, dearest sister," she turned to Geraldine, her perfect features practically gleaming with mischief, "if you claim being a relative you of course will do have your share of baby-sitting!"

Geraldine broke into laughter.

"Why can't they be a little less stubborn?" she asked much later with a frustrated sigh after having related the whole story to the two Iezu.

Karril shrugged. "Why are you complaining? You're just as stubborn yourself."

"You know, I was looking for someone to take care of my father before he gets too depressed and jumps into the Serpent or something. Now, I have two of that kind to look after!"

"Well, that's great for you. I hope you can cook."

"No!" she exclaimed, horrified. "And I don't intend to learn how to. They survived jungle," she began to count down on the fingers of her right hand, "a trip across Novatlantis, and a journey to Hell. I'm sure they'll manage to survive my cooking. Besides, I fully intend to let my husband do it all. He's really, really good at it."

"I'm think I'm inclined to explore the concept of human food," Saris said.

Geraldine smiled deviously. "Then I'm highly honored to invite my newly found family to my father's wedding!"

* * *

Back at home, she was met with a suspicious silence.

A look at her wristwatch told her it was nearing midday so her husband was probably still at work or at least on his way home. That left the question of what exactly the other two inhabitants ot the large beautiful villa were doing. Geraldine had an idea what may have happened between them yesterday. _Well, about time,_ she thought.

Ascending the stairs, she heard sounds from the library that hardly could be mistaken. Grinning, she turned and sneaked to the large wooden door which was left open just a tad. The door didn't as much as creak when she pushed it open enough for her to creep in, then closed it behind her without making a sound. The thick carpets out of Sattin swallowed her footsteps completely.

With a wicked smile, Geraldine walked around a ceiling-high bookshelf and stopped there, looking at the two who were making the noises. They looked that occupied she could have probably stayed there watching for all eternity – completely unnoticed.

She made a politely light coughing sound.

They drew back rather hastily and stared up at her in shock.

"Well," she said, quirking one eyebrow. "I do not think reading books produces that kind of noise."

"That depends on the kind of book," Gerald retorted nonchalantly, his hands still buried in her father's hair.

"Umm…" the latter said, looking quite sheepishly. "I can explain that…"

"We had a difficult matter to discuss," the other man offered hastily, trying to be of help.

"I can see that," Geraldine said dryly, working hard on keeping her face expressionless. "Well then, I'm leaving the two of you alone. Just go on with your … _discussion_."

* * *

She stepped out of the library, unsuccessfully stifling a laugh. Sometimes, things _did_ proceed well.

The entrance door opened and closed with a soft 'click', letting in her tired looking husband.

She smiled.

"Don't tell me you want to read a book," she said by way of greeting.

"No," Damien da Silva answered, confused. "Actually, I wasn't planning to do that. Why?" Then, Geraldine saw realization creep into his eyes, and there was a slight catch in his voice. "They – not really?"

"Yessss!" she said, pleased with herself.

"About time!"

"Exactly what I thought. I suggest we leave them alone for a while," she grinned suggestively. "Too much shock might be contra-productive to their ... _conditions_."

He raised a brow. "And what exactly are you up to again?"

"I need to go shopping."

"And what?"

With a long, meaningful look to the library door, she answered.

"Bedroom furniture."

He broke into laughter.

* * *

With her husband having left for the University's Library to look up old charts of geological faults that dated back to the Landing, Geraldine was about to leave for shopping when she spotted a maid rushing down the stairs. _Strange,_ she thought. _Does Gerald have servants?_

Only that the 'maid' wasn't a maid. Neither human.

Geraldine grinned. "Hey, step-brother," she said.

Karril nearly jumped. "Damn," he said then, changing his appearance once again. "You scared the living daylights out of me!"

"Not exactly my problem," Geraldine smiled. "Where are you going?"

"I believe a drink would be useful down there," the maid's voice answered from Karill's lips. "I only aim to please." He was carrying a tray with two goblets and a bottle of red wine.

Geraldine broke into laughter. "Sorry, Karril, but you might want to work on that. You sound like a courtesan."

Karril changed his appearance again, this time to that of a curvaceous woman wearing practically nothing. "Oh, but I have been, many times," he made, fluttering his lashes and striking a suggestive pose.

Geraldine raised an eyebrow. "But, dear step-brother, I didn't know you were after my fathers. Otherwise I would've suggested a threesome instead of a wedding!" she said sweetly.

"Oh, I'm so sad, they won't have me!" Karril cried theatrically, rapidly flowing into the maidservant again.

"My poor, poor step-brother," Geraldine made artfully.

Karril laughed. "Oh, you're an evil one, my lovely step-sister," he said with an exaggerated bow and a sweeping movement of his arm that still held the bottle.

Geraldine smirked and gave the bottle a closer look. "How much aphrodisiac did you put into that?" she asked, quirking a curious brow.

"Uhm … I didn't…?" he started just to realize the very next second she didn't believe a word. "Why do you want to know?"

Geraldine smiled brightly. "Oh, I just wondered if they might need a second bottle of this," she said innocently, pulling something out of her pocket. It turned out to be a small vial filled with an amber-colored fluid.

"Is it what I think it is?" he asked smugly after taking a closer look at the vial.

"I'm not the one capable of reading minds," she said, giving him a very slight, very wicked smile.

Once finished with what she'd suggested, Karril broke into laughter.

* * *

Three weeks and a wedding later…

"Oh, and Dad," Geraldine said, "don't forget to write."

"Write?" he asked. "But we're only moving back to Sheva."

She grinned. "Not really, no. Actually, you're moving to Yamas. Closer to your new line of business."

With that, she threw something toward Gerald. He caught it one-handed. After taking a look at whatever it was he broke into soft laughter.

"Is there anything you didn't think of?" he asked, mockingly.

"Umm… No, Daddy," Geraldine answered, smiling serenely.

"What _is_ it?" her father demanded.

Gerald stretched out his arm and opened his hand.

Damien stared at the two sets of keys for a long moment.

"Does it mean what I think it does?" he said, not sure himself whom indeed he was asking. "Our children are throwing us out?"

"Wrong tense," the other man said dryly. "Our children _have_ thrown us out."

"It's just a suggestion," Geraldine said, her tone making quite clear it was anything but that. "We figured it all out: you two breed horses, Damien and I look after the hospital and have fun!"

"With children like these, who needs enemies?" Gerald da Silva-Vryce said, a fleeting smile curling his lips.

"Yeah. I can tell," Damien da Silva-Vryce agreed.

Geraldine grinned, stepping back. "Hey Dad, just send us some unhorses next year," she said and waved.

"We will," he said, waved back, and kneed his three-toed mount into motion.

"There, look, they're riding off into the sunset," she sighed. "What an ending to this tale…"

"Do you think we'll ever see them again?" her husband asked.

"Sure as Hell we will. Or do you really think they can manage to stay out of trouble for two days at a stretch?" asked Geraldine.

He broke into laughter. "One can hope, can't I?"

"With a father like this I'm surprised how you manage to grow up that naive." She smiled. "You _do_ know we have a hell of a lot of work to do now, don't you?"

He sighed. "Unfortunately."

"To quote from my father: Yeah, I can tell."

They smiled at each other and they kissed and then, they went inside.

But that's another story for another time…

_FIN_

**Extra notes:**

(1) February, 1. is Imbolc (or Candlemas), one of the four principal festivals of the Irish calendar, celebrated either at the beginning of February or at the first local signs of Spring. Originally dedicated to the goddess Brigid, in the Christian period it was adopted as St. Brigid's Day. In Wiccan tradition Imbolc is a festival to celebrate the Light, represents The Beginning and is astrologically defined as a cross-quarter day, midway between the winter solstice (Yule) and the spring equinox (Ostara). The precise astrological midpoint in the Northern hemisphere is when the sun reaches fifteen degrees of Aquarius. In the Southern hemisphere, if celebrated as the beginning of Spring, the date is the midpoint of Leo.

I just thought it fitting for Damien, as a Bringer of Light, to be born on that date. Of course, Gerald's birthday is on October, 31. Antagonism at its best. And yes, there'll be a story… some day…

(2) Contrary to Damien da Silva I'm not a seismologist. I asked a friend who is to explain the mechanics of a quake, so I know most faults don't behave as described by Geraldine, having components of both dip-slip and strike-slip. I just wanted to avoid a lengthy explanation but still maintain some level of authenticity. So if you're a seismologist and think I made it too simple and it bothers you, I'm sorry.

(3) Damien talks about the Richter magnitude scale, of course. I figured they may still use it on Erna. According to it, a quake of 6-6.9 is labeled as 'strong' and can be destructive in areas up to 160km across.


End file.
